


King or Carnival Elf?

by Susana Rosa (SusanaR)



Series: Desperate Hours Alternative Universe (DH AU) D version [22]
Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Action/Adventure, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-06
Updated: 2011-09-14
Packaged: 2017-10-22 07:16:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/235344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SusanaR/pseuds/Susana%20Rosa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lord Elrond tells his injured son a story, about another King who found his status challenging, at times.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Nargothrond fell in First Age 495, making Ereinion the young Aran of any survivors of Nargothorond. Ereinion survived the fall of Nargothorond because he was at the Isle of Balar, being fostered by his distant kinsman Lord Cirdan (after Cirdan, and Ereinion with him and all of the elves who survived the fall of Brithrombar and Eglarest in the Falas, fled to the Isle of Balar). I think it likely that most of the Nargothrondhrim who survived the fall of their Kingdom made their way to the Isle of Balar, as that was where their King was already living. And I think Galadriel, and Celeborn, would have been involved. They both loved Galadriel's brothers, especially Finrod Felagund who founded Nargothrond.
> 
> Thanks to Kaylee for help with Nargothrondhrim. If it is spelled right, it is thanks to you. All mistakes are my own.

Minas Tirith, T.A. 3020, spring, the Royal Bedchamber

 

Fed up and sore, Aragorn, King of Reunited Gondor and Arnor, hurled a pillow at his retreating foster-brother with all of his returning strength.

Elladan, who had not been expecting the missile, "oof'ed" quite satisfactorily, and better yet, spilled the remains of the painkiller Aragorn had refused to drink all over himself.

Aragorn smiled, temporary satisfaction replacing frustration for a moment. Elladan closed his eyes, and counted to ten. "Muindor-laes, when you are well again...there will be a reckoning, I promise you." The younger of Lord Elrond's twin sons promised his foster-brother and brother-by-law in a soft yet threatening voice.

A tired, amused voice came from the door. "Oh, I don't know, 'Dan. Its the first time His Grumpiness has smiled in a week, absent Arwen beside him. Maybe it was worth the sacrifice of your tunic and, ah, dignity."

Aragorn blushed at the realization that his young Steward and friend had witnessed his childish behavior, but waved Faramir into his bedchamber, nonetheless. "Faramir, welcome. I am sorry you had to witness my temper, and Elladan, iaur muindor, I am sorry I threw a pillow at you. I am greatly frustrated, but I do appreciate your many kindnesses, both of you."

"And I am sorry that you have my inestimable twin's unerring aim." Elladan joked, using the towel Faramir had fetched from the adjoining bathing chamber to wipe the spilled medicine off of his clothing. His gray eyes softening at his injured baby brother's apologetic demeanor, Elladan offered kindly, "Consider your tantrum forgotten, muindor-laes. I understand your frustration; I am a horrible patient, myself."

"Hmm, a family trait?" Faramir murmured innocently, trying to hide a yawn.

Aragorn considered his Steward worriedly. The week since an assassin had nearly deprived him of his life and the Reunited Kingdoms of their ruler had been a frustrating one, for Aragorn, and a frightening and long one, for Faramir. Aragorn dearly wished at times that someone else could be King, so that he he could go out and track down the individual who had threatened his Kingdom's peace and his family's peace of mind by trying to kill him. As Faramir stared at him worriedly and Elladan hid a smile, Aragorn groaned to realize he had spoken that last thought aloud, and that he was feeling decidedly...more relaxed than he should. "You drugged me." He accused the trickier twin.

"Of course I did, Estel." Elladan admitted with shameless cheer. "I'm not a fool, I knew you would refuse to drink the medicine. I could have won, of course, but why bother arguing? The real medicine was in your wine."

Faramir chuckled as Aragorn glared at his brother. "Sometimes, Elladan, you remind me of my own brother." The Steward said softly.

And Faramir still had trouble speaking of his brother, who had died during during the Quest. "Ai, Faramir." Aragorn consoled, patting the coverlet beside him. "Come here, mellon muin nin."

Faramir took a deep breath and prepared to voice a polite refusal, before deciding against it. He'd nearly lost his dear friend the King to an assassin's arrow the previous week. He could spare some time to keep Aragorn company.

After Faramir had sat down beside the King, and was talking to Aragorn quietly for the few moments while the King was still awake and and more-or-less aware, Elladan pulled another dark blue blanket out of a chest, and laid it over the Steward.

"I'm not staying, Elladan." Faramir pointed out gently, "I've more yet to do, this night."

Aragorn, blinking tiredly, wondered how to explain to Faramir that he probably was staying, but Elladan did it for him. "Your wine had only the sedative and not the pain-killer, dear Faramir, but sleep you most certainly shall, and within the next half hour, unless Ada mis-dosed you. Which is quite unlikely, as he was a healer before your distant ancestors sailed for Numenor with Uncle Elros."

Faramir cursed softly, and it was Aragorn's turn to chuckle. "Do not be too angry, dear one." He comforted Faramir. "You have, after all, promised us to listen to your healers, and you are over-tired."

Faramir appeared to accept that, sighing and leaning back, though he took care not to jostle the King.

 

"You're on my good side." Aragorn reminded Faramir, shifting so that the Prince of Ithilien was pillowed against his unhurt shoulder.

 

"Mmm." Faramir commented, hiding another yawn. "I don't want to risk paining you by accident."

 

"You won't." Aragorn assured him, "I'm healed enough that its only moving the other arm that bothers me."

 

Elladan rolled his eyes at that, but was inclined to pamper Aragorn, who was now behaving himself, and Faramir, of whom Elladan was quite fond. "Since you're both being such good patients," Elladan said cheerfully, "I'll tell you a story of a time when cousin Ereinion decided he'd had enough of being Aran-in-exile of the surviving Nargothrondhrim, and ran away to join a carnival troupe."

 

"You're exaggerating again, ion-nin." Lord Elrond admonished, entering the room. "I will tell the story; you sit beside Faramir."

 

Faramir, who had been planning to leave as soon as Elladan turned his back, sighed again.

"Now," Lord Elrond began, smiling faintly, "this story takes place around year 497 or 498 of the first age, less than three years after Nargothrond, the kingdom founded by my cousin Finrod Felagund, fell to the dragon Glaurung at Morgoth's order in the autumn of 495. Uncle Celeborn was on the Isle of Balar, as his wife Aunt Galadriel had been serving as first regent and then advisor to the newly-of-age Aran of the Nargothrondhrim in exile, her great-nephew Artanaro, or Rodnor in Sindarin. Though Galadriel was careful to always call him by his epesse, Ereinion, which meant "scion of rulers."

Home of Aran Ereinion and Lord Cirdan on the Isle of Balar, First Age, approximately 497 (or 498)

Galadriel frowned as she reviewed the proposed arrangements for the conveyance of messages between her young great-nephew Aran Ereinion's household on the Isle of Balar and the palace of Elu Thingol in Doriath, where she and her husband would soon be returning. They had been at the Isle of Balar since sometime in early 496, helping the survivors of Nargothrond, the Kingdom founded by Galadriel's favorite brother Finrod Felagund, to settle and make new lives for themselves. Now, Galadriel and Celeborn and their household would be returning to Doriath, and the messengers would have go back and forth through Queen Melian's veil. Melian was aware of the need, and she and her husband the King were reluctantly permitting the intrusion, but it would still require added coordination, and increase the already substantial time lag. No longer would Ereinion be able to get Galadriel's advice and counsel within a matter of minutes, and Galadriel was worried. Lord Cirdan was wise, but he was not of Nargothrond, nor of the exiled Noldor.

"All will be well, tithen gwathel. Do not worry so." Faenglorien, Galadriel's second longest serving retainer, comforted her Lady.

Galadriel gave her friend a weak smile, but continued making notations. Faenglorien, too, was busy, writing out various directions for Galadriel's and Celeborn's factor on the Isle of Balar, the young Noldo Lord Tanwemeren.

Ilcetiel, Galadriel's retainer and guard, snorted critically. "You know, it would save time if you did as Celeborn suggested, Galadriel, and just gave Lord Cirdan your permission to discharge your instructions for your investments and other interests here."

Galadriel stood and stretched before answering, walking a few steps to gaze out the window into the sheltered harbor. White clouds dotted the blue sky, and the spring winds blowing in from Beleriand brought the scent of sun-warmed pine. 'Twas a beautiful day, and she completely sympathized with her young nephew's desire to escape the stone castle, and the unending administration of rulership. Ereinion and his gwedyr, the impulsive Drystan and the quiet, clever, flame-haired Nallos, had breakfasted with Galadriel and her ladies this morning, as planned. Galadriel’s Lord husband, Celeborn, and others of their retainers had left the previous week, to scout ahead their return route to Doriath.

Doriath…which was home, to her love. And her home, as well, for the better part of the last four centuries. Menegroth, in the forest fenced by the power of her uncle’s Maia Queen. Melian, who was Galadriel’s mentor, teacher, like another mother to her. And Elu Thingol, who with his wife’s aid, had kept his people safe for thousands of years. And Ereinion, here alone but for Cirdan and a few trusted friends, responsible for his father’s people, her beloved brothers’ people. The Nargothrondhrim who had forsaken Finrod, and never forgiven themselves. It was hard for Galadriel to leave, leave that trust in the hands of her young great-nephew and their distant kinsman his foster-father.

It wasn’t that Ereinion was unfit, as he was a responsible and capable ruler, considering his tender years. Nor was it that she didn’t wish to return with her Lord to his home, as she did. But she felt she was deserting her post, deserting her brothers’ legacy.

 

To his great credit, her husband had never questioned that she must go to the outskirts of Nargothrond when she had a dream of the dragon Glaurung. Nor had he questioned that she must lead the survivors to safety. Celeborn had loved her brothers, too. Like Galadriel, he'd been especially close to Finrod. And family was very important to Celeborn. In fact, it had been Celeborn who had urged Galadriel to spend more time with Ereinion, and develop a personal relationship with her young great-nephew, her brothers' only surviving kin. Galadriel had not seen the need for that, at first. Ereinion had their distant Uncle Cirdan, who had been like a father to him for most of Ereinion's life. But Galadriel knew her husband was wiser than she in matters of the heart, so Galadriel spent time with Ereinion. And was pleased, by and large, by what she saw. Oh, he was a child, and needed the tutoring and teaching in the ways of governance that any child come to rule too early would need. But he had great promise, this nephew of hers.

Still, he was young, and this day, as his gwedyr headed out-of-doors, and he contemplated a morning reviewing petitions with her, she found herself moved to tell him to go, go and have fun. Ereinion had paused, knowing that they had little time left together before Galadriel left, but his gwedyr had urged him to come swimming with them, down at the hidden cove near the castle, so close and concealed that Ereinion need take no other guards besides Drystan and Nallos. And the sun had glimmered on the window and the waves, and Ereinion had smiled, and thanked her kindly. Then the three young elves had left, and the room had seemed quieter and less joyous without their presence.

 

"No," Galadriel said at last, in answer to Ilcetiel's question. "No, I respect Uncle Cirdan greatly, but he has enough on his plate, ruling the survivors of his Falathrim, leading the efforts to ready a ship and crew that can sail to Aman and warn the Valar of Morgoth's threat, and most importantly of all, perhaps, being Atar and chief advisor to Ereinion. I would not add to his responsibilities, and young Tanwemeren will do well, fostering our investments on the Isle of Balar, and perhaps becoming Ereinion's friend as well as his Advisor." Galadriel smiled at her ladies, "For my nephew will need Advisors who are not yeni upon yeni his elders, as I appreciate having you, 'Cetiel."

 

Ilcetiel made a funny face at her Lady, which made Galadriel laugh. And it was that bright merriment that Lord Cirdan walked into. It made him smile, although they had a visitor who had put him into a sour mood, indeed.

 

"Niece," Cirdan greeted Galadriel, "Lord Alcarmir is here. Now he is ready to discuss finally integrating his household guard with that of the Isle."

 

"Of course he is. On Ereinion's only free afternoon this week." Faenglorien shook her head in disgust.

 

"Ah." Cirdan observed, having noted the absence of his ward. "I hate to have him recalled, but..."

 

"This has been Ereinion's project." Galadriel agreed, her tone a mix between resignation and pride, "And he deserves to see it come to completion." Galadriel grabbed a thin, iridescent blue shawl to protect her hair from the wind, and offered, "Ereinion went to the beach with his gwedyr. I will fetch him."

 

Suspecting that his niece's kind offer had more to do with her own desire to be out of doors for a few moments at least, to savor the sea-wind before dealing with the sour and prickly Lord Alcarmir, Cirdan smiled indulgently. Olwe had loved the sea, and Earwen's daughter did, as well. "If you would be so kind, niece." Cirdan agreed, his eyes sparkling.

 

Faenglorien, also amused, took off her embroidered robe, and belted a sword to her narrow waist. Ilcetiel was already dressed in warrior's garb, and the two ladies were escort enough for their Lady, so near the castle. Galadriel paused on the rock-cut steps to smile as the sun hit her face and the brisk wind tugged at her skirts. Breathing in the salt of the water, the spicy smell of the sea-grass, and the distant scent of pine, Galadriel felt refreshed. Her feeling of peace and well-being lasted until she and her friends reached the hidden cove, and it too was peaceful. No happy shouts of elves just past their adolescence, no racing or sunbathing young King and his companions. Where on Arda was Ereinion?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Celeborn finds his great-nephew, King Ereinion of the Nargothrondhrim, at a carnival.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Kaylee for help with Nargothrondhrim. If that word or anything else in Sindarin or Quenya is spelled or used correctly, it is thanks to you. All mistakes are my own.
> 
> A/N: Nargothrond fell in First Age 495, making Ereinion the young Aran of any survivors of Nargothorond. Ereinion survived the fall of Nargothorond because he was at the Isle of Balar, being fostered by his distant kinsman Lord Cirdan (after Cirdan, and Ereinion with him and all of the elves who survived the fall of Brithrombar and Eglarest in the Falas, fled to the Isle of Balar). I think it likely that most of the Nargothrondhrim who survived the fall of their Kingdom made their way to the Isle of Balar, as that was where their King was already living. And I think Galadriel, and Celeborn, would have been involved. They both loved Galadriel's brothers, especially Finrod Felagund who founded Nargothrond.
> 
>  
> 
> Carmave and Nallos are mentioned briefly in "Hope in the Healing, Part II," they are the great-great-uncle and great-grandfather, respectively, of Tauriel, who appears in that story. Drystan also appears in that story, and his future daughter Eilunwen appears in "A Youngest Son's Gambit," in the "Tales of the Elves of Lothlorien," as Orophin's wife. Faronglas also appeared in "A Youngest Son's Gambit," as well as in "Fly, Arwen," in "Tales of the Third Age in Twilight." Ilcetiel appeared in "A Lady of Investments," in "Tales from Before the Sun Rose," and Faenglorien was also mentioned in that story (they were both in Part I of this story).
> 
> A note on language: Generally I have the Nargothrondhrim using Quenya for endearments. Lord Celeborn is Sindarin, so I try to have him use Sindarin. The Falathrim use both, but generally Sindarin. But the Isle of Balar was a diverse society, and any of these characters would generally have been exposed to both languages, as well as the language of the Edain.

Earlier that day in F.A. 497 (or 498), outside the fortified walls of Lindon town on the Isle of Balar.

 

Four riders in gray cloaks approached the city of Lindon on the Isle of Balar, coming from the large natural harbor not far from the city's walls. The second rider was eager to get home, awaiting a reunion with his beloved wife. Although he dreaded the process of moving her, and their entire household, all the way back to Doriath. Many bribes would be needed to smooth the way, and Celeborn was at this moment empty-handed. As they approached the bright tents of a traveling carnival set up near the city gates, he smelled a delicious aroma, and considered stopping to investigate.

 

The eyes of the youngest of the riders, Faronglas Sinyefalion, went to the elves and men riding their horses standing up, and juggling flame, and doing Eru-knows-what-else that no sensible being would ever do on horseback.

 

Aravellas, Celeborn's longest-serving retainer, reined in his horse with a tolerant smile for his Lord. "I think we shall get no peace unless we let these elflings go and watch the carnival riders, at least for a small time, my Lord." Aravellas said, his blue-gray eyes twinkling merrily in his stern face.

 

Celeborn chuckled as Faronglas, and Aravellas' own son, Brombellas, struggled between annoyance at being called elflings, and hope that Celeborn might say yes. "Oh, very well, you two." Celeborn agreed, with a huff of laughter. "But Aras, you shall accompany me to Carmave's pastry stand. I smell the cinnamon pastries that my love adores, which might lighten her mood as we prepare to depart."

 

Aravellas followed his Lord to the food vendors' stands, as his son and Faronglas went joyfully off to watch the riders. Aravellas had once served Celeborn's father, Galadhon, before Galadhon had hand-picked Aravellas to keep his beloved son and heir safe, as Celeborn wandered Beleriand. First as a diplomat for Elu Thingol, and then because Elmo's oldest grandson had fallen in love with a woman whose kin lived far and wide, and whose spirit could never be content within the borders of any one land, no matter how great. Aravellas had grown fond of Celeborn's proud, generous Noldo bride, in time. But no one who knew Galadriel well could deny that she was a bit difficult, about traveling. As little as she liked to stay in one place for a long time, and as much as the lady could belt on a sword and live out of a single pack during a military engagement if she had to, the Lady Galadriel did not move happily from place to place, not when she had her entire retinue and accoutrements with her. "A good thought, my Lord." Aravellas praised Celeborn fervently. It would take more than cinnamon buns to sweeten Galadriel's shrewish mood when she had to pack up and move, but the pastries would make a good start.

 

Celeborn smiled at Carmave Canyavasion, the young baker whose confections had captured his wife's sweet tooth. "These smell divine, Carmave." Celeborn praised, adding, "I am quite glad that Galadriel encouraged you to start up your own bakery, in addition to cooking and soldiering for your pityaran."

 

The brown haired elf smiled gratefully at Lord Celeborn. "'Tis I am who am glad that you and your Lady convinced my father that having a baker for a son was not a thing to be ashamed of, my Lord." Carmave's father, Sergeant Canyavaso, was still adjusting to his son's choice of career. Carmave was a fine soldier, as well, but cooking, particularly anything sweet, was his passion. And the young  
ellon was quite talented at it, too.

 

"Doing anything well enough to raise it to an art form is always worthy of admiration, Carmave. And your pastries are an art form, my wife assures me." Celeborn said, looking about Carmave's booth, "Is your younger brother with you?" Nallos, the younger son of Canyavaso, was a gwador of Celeborn's nephew-by-marriage, the young Aran Ereinion.

"Nay, he and Drystan had intended to go swimming today, and were hoping your wife might take pity on their poor gwador, and let him go along too." Carmave explained, boxing up the generous portion of sweet rolls for Lord Celeborn.

Celeborn rather suspected that Galadriel had taken pity on Ereinion, and said as much.

 

Carmave grinned. "Aye, your Lady, for all she is a demanding tutor in the ways of governance, has a soft spot for young elves on fine spring days. She also has  
a soft spot for these cinnamon candies, m'Lord, and they travel well. And Lady Faenglorien likes the vanilla ones."

 

Celeborn laughed merrily, and bought a generous selection of all of the different types of hard candies Carmave had for sale, figuring they would make the journey easier. Then he ordered a second selection to be made ready for the day of their departure, as a gift for his cousin Luthien and her elfling Dior, who was no longer an elfling at all, but quite grown. Celeborn did not know what to make of him, Beren and Luthien's son. Dior Eluchil, as they called him, though Celeborn had heard the youth refer to himself as Dior Berenion, was half-human, one-quarter elven, and one-quarter Maia. Celeborn loved his strange young cousin well, though he found Dior an alarming child, now youth, at times. But Luthien and Galadiel were friends, and Galadriel and Dior had always gotten along quite well, so Celeborn was hoping to offer a stop in Ossiriand to help entice his wife to be in a good mood during the journey back to Doriath.

 

Walking back with Aravellas to where they had left the younger members of his escort, Celeborn allowed himself to be drawn into betting with Brom and several of the friends he had made amongst the young Noldor and Falathrim officers, on the outcome of the trial rides. The carnival show was over, but the elves and men who ran the carnival were having try-outs for new trick riders, and many of them would last only seconds before falling ignominiously onto the soft sand. Celeborn had a weakness for gambling, and was very good at it. He ignored Aravellas' rolling of his eyes, and carefully scrutinized each new rider before placing his bets. Within a mere half an hour, Celeborn had won nearly enough to cover his spending at the bakers' stall. A new rider stepped up, and though Celeborn was too far away to see his face, the young elf looked somehow familiar. Celeborn didn't think much of that, at first. Living in Celeborn's house these past few years, he'd come to meet a large number of young elves.

Besides his gwedyr, Ereinion had other friends who were in and out of the house, and Cirdan made a point to encourage Ereinion to invite all of the young elves to his occasional parties and dancing at the house, or at the sheltered cover under the stars. Celeborn understandably thought this new rider must be one of the youths he'd met, an occasional visitor of the Pityaran's, and he didn't think more of it.

 

Instead he watched this youngling as he'd watched the others, trying to guess how long he'd stay ahorse. "Not even a minute," bet Brombellas beside him, from how uncertainly the youth mounted. The other elves made much the same wager, that this young elf would not last long. Celeborn, smiling faintly, bet this youngling would last the full trial period, and would even be offered a place in the troupe. There was something...just right, about the way the youth sat the horse, now that he was on it.

 

And the young elf's trial ride was going well, he was a gifted rider, a graceful athlete. Looking around and enjoying the fine spring day, Celeborn noted that Faronglas was speaking to another young elf, nearby. Then Celeborn noticed the rare flame-colored hair of Faronglas' companion, and he swore and walked quickly over to the two of them, forgetting about his bet and the young rider.

 

"Faronglas," Celeborn said evenly, then "Nallos," more sternly to the slender lad with wide dark eyes and flame-colored hair, "I know that you are not here with your brother Carmave, and I know that you are supposed to be at the beach. I somehow doubt that you are here without my nephew, who should not be here without a full guard, if at all. Now, where is he?"

 

Nallos swallowed nervously but didn't say anything. Celeborn took a deep breath, reflecting that if Ereinion was here, outside the city, where any of these elves attached to the carnival might be former thrall-Noldorin, slaves of Morgoth, who were now his spies. Or men, also spies, or just greedy and faithless enough to kidnap a young King, to deliver to Morgoth. Celeborn did not have time to be  
gentle interrogating Nallos, but fortunately, Aravellas had found a faster way.

 

"Himself's tryin' out now, ridin' the horse." Drystan Lendahyelion, caught gently about the shoulder by Aravellas, confessed immediately.

 

"Drystan!" Nallos objected, angered that his gwador would have betrayed their mutual gwador, the King. Nallos and Ereinion had grown up together, quite literally. Nallos and Carmave's father, Canyavaso, had been selected to join the guard contingent sent to the falas with Aran Orodreth's young heir Ereinion in part because Orodreth had not wanted to separate Ereinion and his best friend. Ereinion and Nallos had both lost mothers at a very young age, and were both clever young elflings, though only Nallos was particularly studious. But both had enjoyed rather sheltered upbringings, and neither truly understood the dangers which awaited elves when they were caught by the Enemy. Drystan's past background was very different, though all three had been young soldiers-in-training before Ereinion's sudden elevation to ruler of the surviving Nargothrondhrim.

 

Drystan and his family had lived in the other city of the Falas, so he had never met Cirdan's fosterling before they all came to the Isle of Balar. Drystan's father had been a soldier in Cirdan's armies, who had died defending the ships fleeing the Falas during Morgoth's last attack on the Falas, when the Enemy overwhelmed them at last. Most of the survivors of the Falas who had not been able to flee had been taken slave by Morgoth, and had joined the ranks of the thrall-Noldorin, the elven slaves who labored for Morgoth in the mines of Middle Earth. The rumor was that it was from those poor unfortunate souls whom Morgoth had bred his hardier-than-mortal slaves, the yrch, who would later come to be called the orcs.

 

Drystan's mother was intimately familiar with fighting and evading the yrch. Eiluned was a wood elf, one of the Laiquendi who had lived for hundreds of years in the great forests of Beleriand, without protection from the enemy other than concealment. Eiluned had come to the Falas with her brother, who had been gravely injured in an yrch attack, to seek healing from the better-trained elven healers of the Falas. Drystan had been born in the Falas, but he had learned from his mother a sound understanding of the dangers outside the Isle, including the dangers that might be brought to the Isle by unknown visitors such as this traveling carnival.

 

Drystan, with that in mind, just shrugged in answer to his gwador's complaint. "They're worried that our gwador's in real trouble, with those who might truly mean him harm. They're not going to care that he's," Drystan looked at Ereinion, riding the well-trained horse, and grinned, "Doing a hand-stand on a fine steed."

 

"Its not the activity I'd choose for him," Celeborn remarked dryly, now keeping a close eye on Ereinion, "But Drystan is quite correct, it is far from what I had feared. There are enough of us to keep him safe, so we'll let my nephew your gwador have his fun before collecting him, and then all of us shall return him to his Atar and my wife, who are undoubtedly looking for him."

 

Carmave, summoned by Faronglas, appeared and gave his brother a look that made Nallos wince. Celeborn reflected that Lieutenant Canyavaso really need not worry that a second job as a baker would make his eldest son weak, if one look from Carmave had Nallos more intimidated than a stern reprimand from a Lord of Doriath, who had braved many dangers, not the least of which had been walking into Ereinion's great-uncle Finrod's Kingdom, and telling Galadriel's three protective older brothers that he intended to marry their only baby sister.

 

"What were you thinking?" Carmave demanded, holding his baby brother firmly but not unkindly by the shoulders.

 

"Erein.." Nallos began, before Celeborn, Aravellas, and Drystan all interrupted him.

 

"Himself." Drystan corrected, "Or our gwador."

 

"Not now, Soldier Carmave." Aravellas said sternly.

 

"Or at least not here." Celeborn ended, his tone full of the affectionate exasperation of an elf accustomed to dealing with the ridiculous antics of younger royal nieces, nephews, and cousins.

 

Seeing the sense in that, Carmave nodded. Celeborn went to stand near the man in charge of the carnival, who was overseeing the try-outs. As Ereinion's was done, the young King dismounted, nearly as clumsily as he had mounted. Celeborn sighed, reflecting that it would pain Finrod to see his great-nephew more comfortable swimming than mounting a horse. Though Finrod Felagund would have been pleased to see how fine a rider Ereinion had become, once he was on a horse.

 

"Hello, nephew." Celeborn said quietly.

 

Dark-haired, dark-eyed Ereinion, wind-swept and flushed from his ride, gave his Uncle a sheepish smile, apology mixed with a bit of defiance. "Cousin," Ereinion greeted.

 

Celeborn sighed. They were also cousins, as well as uncle and nephew by his marriage to Galadriel. But an uncle was more of an authority figure than a cousin, and his love's nephew was apparently considering being difficult, in addition to being where he most certainly did not belong.

 

The carnival man, sensing the undercurrents and not wanting to lose such a promising future employee, shoved a contract in Ereinion's direction, "You were the best of those who tried out today. Sign now, and we'll give you a bonus of an extra ration of ale tonight."

 

"Ai, Eru." Celeborn and Ereinion muttered at the same time. At that, they looked at one another and each smiled slightly, seeing the humor in the moment.

 

"I said I just wanted to try out, and that I couldn't agree to join your troupe." Ereinion objected, adding, "That elf over there let me pay him the amount I won at the archery stands, to try out and not join."

 

The carnival proprietor frowned disapprovingly, "The best riders join the troupe. There are no try-outs just for fun."

 

Ereinion looked to Celeborn, a plea for assistance in his eyes. "Uncle, help?" He asked humbly.

 

Celeborn sighed, but still smiling slightly, explained to the proprietor, "I am sorry, Master Carnival owner. My nephew is ... my wife's apprentice. Bonded, you see, and he had not my wife's permission to be here today. Nor her permission to leave his, ah, apprenticeship program."

 

"Your nephew looks of age." The carnival proprietor argued, "Surely he has the right to change his career, if I was to buy off his bond."

 

Coughing at the horrified expression on Ereinion's face, Celeborn explained kindly, "I am afraid my wife will not be willing to release him, no matter what incentive she is offered. My nephew is an even more promising, ah,scribe-in-training, than a, ah, potential trick rider."

 

Ereinion gave his Uncle a grateful look, and the carnival proprietor's face soured even further. At that moment, Brombellas brought Celeborn his winnings from the bets, and Celeborn generously offered, "To apologize for your losing out on the services of my nephew, perhaps you would accept the winnings I gained betting on your try outs? 'Twould be enough to pay for a round of ale for all of your staff, I think."

 

Sighing, the proprietor reluctantly accepted, holding Ereinion back for a moment to murmur, "I'll have someone waiting by the gate, if you manage to get away, tonight. We'd be very pleased to have you join us, and I doubt your Uncle or Aunt would pursue you beyond the Isle." The proprietor obviously saw that he could make a great deal of money with a new trick rider of Ereinion's evident talent and attractiveness.

 

"Er...thank you, good sir." Ereinion said, "But I'm afraid there is no escaping my destiny, which is to be...a scribe. And, in truth, I would not want to. Not for more than just an afternoon, that is."

 

The proprietor shrugged, but patted Ereinion on the back kindly. "Well, just remember. If you can find us, you are always welcome to join us, son."

 

Ereinion sighed, and mumbled as he walked over to his uncle, "I may need a place, once Atarinya learns of this."

 

"I'm sure he wouldn't cast you out, little kinsman." Celeborn comforted, putting a kind arm around Ereinion, partly in comfort, partly to keep track of the wandering Pityaran.

 

"I just wanted to have a little fun...an afternoon where I didn't have to be...a scribe." Ereinion related sadly. "I'm sorry I sassed you, when you first came over. I was just thinking that if you hadn't found me, I would have gotten away with all of it cleanly. We'd have been back at the beach before dinner. But its not your fault that you're here, its mine that I'm where I oughtn't be. And besides, I don't know how that would have worked out," Ereinion gestured to the proprietor who had tried very hard to recruit him, "If you hadn't been here to help. So, ah, thank you. For that, and for..." Ereinion paused, uncertain.

 

"Not throwing a an elder elf tantrum?" Celeborn suggested wryly, adding, "Nephew mine, I sincerely doubt that Cirdan will yell at you. I do not think I have ever heard him yell, and I must admit, some of the stories of the mischief you got up to as a child," Celeborn shook his head, and was grateful that Nimloth, his mischievous niece, was not with them on the Isle of Balar, as she and a younger Ereinion would have gotten along like a house afire. "Well, suffice it to say that if you had been my son, I would keep an even closer eye on you." Celeborn remarked sternly.

 

Ereininon winced, "I've been better, since...well, I've been better." Since war had come to the Falas, since being allowed to start military training a few years early, since becoming the young King of hundreds upon hundreds of shattered survivors. Yes, Ereinion had been responsible indeed, since Celeborn had known him these last few years, with remarkably few lapses. But...knowing Dior was now Elu Thingol's heir, Celeborn had a lot of sympathy for his wife. It was hard to watch someone take up a position that you were better trained and prepared for. Oh, Celeborn would never stand in the way of Elu's grandson, nor would Galadriel ever dispute Ereinion's right to be Aran of the Nargothrondhrim. But it did not make it easy for Galadriel to watch her unready nephew take over her brother's people. Still, it was not Ereinion's fault that he had been called to the Kingship so early; so early that he still should be out enjoying himself on fine afternoons. As Celeborn had been able to do, at Ereinion's age. Yes, Celeborn had been one of Elu's heirs, but not first in line. He had been granted time, to enjoy being a young elf. And it was not Ereinion's fault that he was not as prepared for his new role as Galadriel or Celeborn would be...after all, they had had thousands of years to learn all they needed to know of ruling a Kingdom. There was no way that an elf of barely fifty coronari could compare.

Celeborn desperately hoped that Dior would have the more carefree youth Ereinion had been denied, and that his own uncle Elu Thingol would continue ruling Doriath in health and grace for many more thousands of years.

 

With all of that in mind, Celeborn gentled his tone before replying. "You are doing well, nephew." Celeborn praised, "But that will not save you from the consequences of acting so foolishly, and worrying your foster-Atar."

 

Ereinion blushed, before agreeing with a sigh. "Yes, Uncle. I know." Celeborn patted the youth's back as they rejoined his party. Ereinion and his gwedyr exchanged the expected looks of commiseration, sympathy and apology common to younglings who have managed to get into hot water together, and Celeborn mounted his horse.

 

Faronglas was holding the reins of Celeborn's mare, and whispering softly to the creature. Celeborn caught his youngest retainer's eye, and said softly, "Why do I expect that you would not have found the opportunity to mention to me that Ereinion was here with his gwedyr, Faron-nin?"

 

Faronglas blushed, but answered honestly, "I would not have, my Lord. I would have asked your leave to stay longer, and made sure that the...your nephew, arrived home safely. But I was sympathetic to his desire to play hooky for an afternoon, and felt him safe enough. No one seemed to have recognized him, and his gwedyr were with him, and some of their other young friends."

 

Celeborn suppressed the urge to growl in frustration as he lifted Ereinion up to sit before him in the saddle. "It was not your choice to make, Faronglas. And so I will tell your parents when we arrive home. And you will give me the names of all of my nephew's young friends whose judgment also failed them, this day."

 

Faronglas nodded, unhappy but resigned a bit apologetic. Ereinion squirmed in front of Celeborn. "Ai, Uncle, please, no. They were just being good friends to me, at Drystan's and Nallos' request. None of them gave me away. Please don't tell their parents." Ereinion pleaded.

 

"Shh, titta quen." Celeborn soothed Ereinion. "It is my duty to have their parents informed; but I will express my gratitude as well as my disapproval. You should send your apologies, as well."

 

"Yes, Uncle." Ereinion agreed, with another unhappy sigh.

 

Aravellas mounted, pulling Drystan in front of him. Nallos rode with his brother, who unhappily left cleaning up their stand in the capable hands of his assistant.

 

"You don't have to, Carme." Nallos offered sadly.

 

Carmave snorted. "And leave you to face Atto's wrath alone, pityahanonya? More, I want a piece of you, after he is done."

 

Nallos made a face at that, but relaxed against his brother. Celeborn smiled a bit to hear that exchange, remembering conversations he'd had with his own younger brother, Galathil. Who was now a responsible father to Amdir and Nimloth, but who Celeborn would always remember as his naughty younger brother. He felt rather sorry for their cousin Celepharn, who had lacked a brother, growing up. Fortunately Celepharn's own wife Neldiel had been luckier in her pregnancies, giving her husband two fine sons, Oropher and Vehiron.

 

They took a longer route through the city, one that put them on a sparsely populated street, close enough to the small castle which was home to Ereinion and Cirdan that the distance could easily be walked, but far enough away that the hoofbeats of royal messengers coming to and fro would not be overloud. Celeborn's eyes went, as they often did on this street, to a house built up against the sea wall, with a large balcony overlooking the waves. Someone had planted flowers common to Doriath and Nargothrond in the window boxes of the fine four-story home. "I've always liked that house." Celeborn mentioned softly, as Ereinion noticed his distraction.

 

Ereinion smiled at him, confused and somewhat hesitant. "Well, it is good that you like it, Uncle. After all, you now own it. Well, Aunt Galadriel does, so I would think that you do, too. She says in marriage you share everything, even the things you might not want."

 

Celeborn sighed. Buying a house without consulting him about it, if the price was right and she had the desire, was exactly the type of thing his wife would do. He did not mind their having a permanent home on the Isle of Balar. On the contrary, he rather thought it a good idea. But learning about it from Ereinion..."Ah." Celeborn commented shortly, "Well, she is right enough about that."

 

"Is that why you want her to leave with you?" Ereinion asked, his eyes a bit...sad.

 

"Ai, nephew." Celeborn tightened his arms around the youth, and kissed Ereinion's soft hair. "I have responsibilities in Doriath, to my King. And it is my wife's home as well. My aunt the Queen Melian has missed her favorite student. But we will return; after all," Celeborn paused to smile good-humoredly at his own expense, "We now have a home here as well, do we not?"

 

"You do." Ereinion agreed with a sympathetic smile. He was very fond of Aunt Galadriel, and grateful for her guidance, as upsetting as it was to him to need so much help with his role as Aran. But Ereinion rather hoped he might find a wife who was perhaps a bit less...well, as young as Ereinion had been when he left Nargothrond, he recalled his father Orodreth complaining at times about his "bossy" Aunt Galadriel. Who had, among other things, told her nephew, repeatedly, that it might be best to send both of his children, or at least the underaged one, to safety, as Nargothrond increasingly became a target of Morgoth's. And Orodreth had listened, which was why Ereinion had been with Cirdan, in the first place.

 

Soon enough, Ereinion was facing his foster-Atar Lord Cirdan, as well as his aunt Galadriel, and Nallos' father Sergeant Canyavaso. No one had invited Drystan's mother Eiluned, at Cirdan's order. Eiluned worked most days as an alchemist's assistant, and besides, Cirdan expected she would be little help. Eiluned's perspective on this would probably be, "Well, why didn't you give your foster-son permission when he asked to go to the carnival? It was a reasonable request, and edair who deny reasonable requests are well-paid by disobedience.  
And he didn't go alone, after all."

 

No, that help Cirdan did not need, and since Eiluned had told him that Drystan was the same age as Ereinion, and therefore of age, Cirdan did not have to notify her. That Cirdan rather doubted the veracity of that claim was neither here nor there. By and large, Drystan was mature enough that the few years Cirdan suspected the elfling had added to his age (with Eiluned either having supported the lie or having just decided, with a typical wood-elf disdain for accurate record-keeping, that Drystan must in fact be 50 now, if he thought he was), did not tell too badly. Cirdan did, however, invite Lieutenant Sarando, the youths' training instructor, and also the head of the army of the Isle of Balar, Captain-General Marsaron. The Captain of Cirdan's army of the Falas had been Captain-General Earyando, but Cirdan's old friend Earyando had been amenable to accepting a demotion when Marsaron arrived, as Marsaron had greater experience with waging offensive as well as defensive engagements. But Marsaron valued Earyando's input, and so Earyando was here, as well. Cirdan had initially called both captains to meet with Lord Alcarmir, but now that noble pain in Cirdan's posterior was cooling his heels with his retinue in an audience chamber, whilst Cirdan addressed his erring foster-son.

 

"Ereinion, yonya, we spoke of this, did we not?" Cirdan said, after he had embraced his foster-son, glad to find the youth returned and unharmed.

 

Ereinion nodded unhappily, "We did, Atto, and I am sorry. You said it was too dangerous, but I really wanted to go...Nallos tried to talk me out of it." Ereinion defended his friend, "And Drystan didn't make me go, either. He just knew how much I had wanted to go."

 

Cirdan suppressed a smile of pride at how much more diplomatic his foster-son had become in these last few years. He rather suspected that going to the carnival after being refused permission to go had been Drystan's idea, but Ereinion had neatly avoided mentioning such.

 

"I see." Cirdan said, his eyes concerned and his tone gently reproving. "But you understood that it was not safe, yonya. And that I had told you that you were not to go. More, you told your aunt that you were going to the beach, not the carnival."

 

"We implied we were going to the beach," Nallos pointed out softly, "We never actually said so."

 

"A fine distinction." Galadriel noted, "It is my preference that in the future you lie to me to my face, Canyavasion. That way I will know you are being dishonest."

 

Ereinion sighed, but he met his foster-father's eyes bravely, and nodded. "Yes, I knew I was disobeying your will, Atar. And abusing the trust of Aunt Galadriel," Ereinion threw an apologetic look at his aunt, now standing next to her husband, "And I am sorry for it. I will accept any consequences that you assign, as well as writing apology notes to the parents of my friends who aided me in this, ah, illicit excursion."

 

Drystan, speaking up on his friend's behalf and lending weight to Cirdan's suspicions that the whole illicit excursion had been his idea in the first place, argued, "That isn't fair, it's not. Ereinion is just like any other elf, he has a right to go out and see the carnival. 'Aran' is just some idea you all have in your heads; its not a real thing."

 

Celeborn, nephew of the great Aran Elu Thingol, looked at Drystan in baffled amazement.

 

Snorting in amusement, Cirdan explained, "Drystan's mother is Laiquendi. They've not had a leader since Denethor and Lenwe before him, and many of them fail to truly grasp the concept of Kingship." Drystan's mother in particular thought Ereinion was a nice young elf, but treated him no differently than any other friend of her son's. Ereinion and Cirdan were actually rather fond of Eiluned, for that.

 

Galadriel, a granddaughter of the former Noldoran Finwe, a great-niece of Ingwe Ingaran, and a niece of Elu Thingol and Aran Olwe of the Lindar, surprised her husband by calmly pointing out, "It may not be a good system, Trainee Drystan. But better Ereinion than Lord Alcarmir, who certainly feels himself better fit to be in charge of the survivors of Nargothrond.

 

Drystan considered that, and reluctantly nodded. "Still, its not fair."

 

"Many things in life are not." Galadriel said shortly, "Among them that we ought now deal with Lord Alcarmir. Nephew, if you are ready?"

 

Ereinion, hastily dressed into formal robes over his casual clothing with the assistance of Nallos and Samindel, the wife of Cirdan's advisor Galdor, asked in surprise, "You waited for me, Aunt Galadriel?"

 

"Yes, nephew." Galadriel explained, with a rare, mischievous smile of her own, "Lord Alcarmir's first offer was that Captain Marsaron should be displaced by his own senior military elf, and I rather thought that suggestion deserving of a wait." She paused, and here her tone became more respectful, "And the joint defense force was your idea, Ereinion, and a good one. You deserve to see the last and most obstreperous of the great lords of Nargothrond join the fold."

 

Ereinion, honored, replied, "I thank you, aunt, but," here the Aran looked to his guardian, "Atarinya, may I deal with this matter, before answering to you for my disobedience?"

 

"You may, hinya, but I believe Sergeant Canyavaso should go and be sure that none of the elves or men you encountered today are plotting your abduction, as my nephew Celeborn tells me they were quite taken with you." Cirdan explained,not unkindly.

 

"Nay," Drystan interrupted, "The shifty-eyed fellows are all out of the way already, tied up in a storage shed, near the wharf."

 

Every elf in the room turned to regard the younger of the King's gwedyr in puzzled astonishment.

 

"Well, I wasn't about to let Ereinion wander around a crowd filled with possible thrall-Noldorin and human spies, was I?" Drystan asked them all, exasperated, "After all, 'Aran' may be a silly concept, but its one that the Enemy holds to, too, you know. Even if it still seems stupid to me that an elf barely out of adolescense is a bigger to the Enemy than a trained warrior like Captains Marsaron or Earyando, or than a scary elf like your aunt Galadriel or Uncle Celeborn." Drystan turned to Ereinion, "Not that I don't think you're an impressive warrior, gwador. I do, for your age. But the other elves in your family and our training officers are all scarier."

 

Ereinion blinked, a bit taken aback by that string of Drystan-illogic, even though he was quite accustomed to his younger gwador. "I...see, titta otornya." The young Aran said after a moment, "But could you explain precisely what it is that you did? And perhaps where this shed is, so that Captain Marsaron might go and find these, ah, 'shifty-eyed elves?'"

 

"A'course, Ereinion." Drystan replied willingly, "I went to the carnival two days earlier this week, and took Nallos with me, and told Samnolas, who looks typical Noldo like you, to stick close to Nallos, and act friendly with him. Anyone who showed too much interest in them, as Nallos is most often with you, gwador, I talked to the enforcers at the carnival, and we agreed that perhaps a day spent shut up in a shed would encourage them to talk about why they were taking such an interest in barely-of-age elves."

 

There was absolute silence again for another moment, except for Nallos who exclaimed, "So that's why we were there so much...I thought it was just that you had come to share Ereinion's bizarre affection for carnivals."

 

"You...tied them up and left them in a storage shed, near the docks." Ereinion repeated in a strained tone of voice, just to make sure that he had it straight.

 

"With guards." Drystan pointed out helpfully, "And no one hurt them first. You asked me not to take justice into my own hands, so they've just been kept in one place, where they couldn't cause harm."

 

"Trainee Lendahyelion," Lieutenant Sarando pointed out in tolerant exasperation, "Detaining elves,"

 

"And men." Drystan pointed out helpfully, "Several of them were men."

 

"And men," Sarando amended, looking like he might be mentally praying to the Valar for patience, "is taking justice into your own hands. Only the guard is  
supposed to detain citizens of the Isle, or visitors, against their will."

 

"Oh." Drystan considered that. "Well, when I explained that the alternative was answering our questions, they were willing to be detained. If that matters."

 

"Not really." Lieutenant Sarando said with a sigh, "But we shall continue to work on these fine distinctions. And you have indeed improved, Trainee. This was, indeed, better than the last time we had to have this discussion."

 

"Nallos and Ereinion convinced me that beating those elves for calling Ereinion names hadn't really helped Ereinion." Drystan agreed, "And I do listen to them." Even if Drystan still thought that elves who insulted Ereinion out of jealousy when being King was no picnic for Ereinion, after all, deserved their bruises.

 

"I'm glad you listen to someone, Trainee." Sarando replied wryly, before turning to Captain Marsaron. "With your permission, sir, I'll take Trainee Lendahyelion and Trainee Canyavaso with me to deal with the suspicious beings Trainee Drystan had detained."

 

Captain Marsaron granted his permission, and Captain Earyando added, "But by all means, Lieutenant, do be careful. Trainee Drystan is, ah, overenthusiastic but not entirely lacking in common sense. There may well be a spy or two amongst those he has detained."

 

Lieutenant Sarando nodded, glad his father and Captain had kept that comment professional. "I'll take care of discussing this matter with Trainee Lendahyelion, after we see about his shifty-eyed fellows." The Lieutenant explained, placing a firm but not unkind hand on Drystan's shoulder.

 

Drystan nodded his acceptance of that. He respected his training lieutenant, and even if Drystan didn't think he and his gwedyr had done anything wrong, Drystan would not object to getting punished if Nallos and Ereinion were in trouble. Even if Drystan's own mother would simply cluck her tongue and say how silly Lord Cirdan could be at times. That was one of the many things that Cirdan liked about Drystan, even if his friendship with Ereinion occasionally caused Cirdan the odd sleepless night and troubled afternoon, such as this one. But there was one more thing...

 

"Ereinion, yonya. Nallos and Drystan." Cirdan said softly, but in a serious tone of voice that immediately won the attention of all three young elves. "I am...glad, that Drystan was thinking ahead, even if the manner of it...was somewhat inappropriate. However, there is every likelihood that Morgoth's spy in this carnival troupe, if he in fact has one, would have been capable enough not to draw attention to himself. Perhaps he was the elf who let Ereinion try out, knowing that the carnival proprietor would have been reluctant to accept Ereinion's declining his offer of employment. Maybe Ereinion would have been talked into at least having a drink with his potential employers, and would have awoken far away from here. That is why I refused Ereinion my permission to go, as I did not have time to accompany him. Next time, I expect the three of your to honor my decision. Or I will be speaking to all of you, in addition to your parents and commanders. And it will not be a discussion you will like, I promise you."

 

"Yes, Lord Cirdan." All three younger elves chorused, even Ereinion. He normally would have called Cirdan Atar, or Atarinya, but he knew that he had been spoken to by the Lord of the Falas, whose guest all of the Nargothrondhrim were. It was also true that Cirdan had more or less thrown his people's lot in with the surviving Nargothrondhrim, and their greater military experience. But Cirdan ruled the Falas, and Ereinion ruled only the Nargothrondhrim. That Cirdan considered Ereinion his Aran was more a courtesy and a symbol of affection, than actual truth.

 

Ereinion looked sadly after his gwedyr and the officers as they departed, but then his gaze turned speculatively to Celeborn, who had been quietly standing beside his wife, after assisting Ereinion to tell the initial part of the afternoon's tale. "Aunt," Ereinion asked Galadriel, "How many elves did you say Lord Alcarmir brought?"

 

"Ten, that he has insisted upon having at the table." Galadriel replied. She saw where her nephew was going, and approved. But she would let Ereinion get there.

 

"Ten...and we have less, especially now that Sergeant Canyavaso has left on his errand." Ereinion paused, "Uncle Celeborn, as you are a Prince of Doriath and a warrior and war-leader amongst your people, I would appreciate your presence in this council as my honored Advisor."

 

Celeborn's eyebrows raised at his clever nephew. "Its going to set Alcarmir's nose out of joint, Ereinion." He warned.

 

"Let it." The youth said firmly. "He's come to me now, and I'm willing to give him the buy-in to the army that Captain Marsaron will approve, as his household guard is large and particularly well-armored and trained. But I'm not willing to displace the existing command structure at the top for him, and the sooner he realizes it, the quicker things will go." With that, Ereinion offered his aunt and Advisor his arm, and for the first time Celeborn saw what Galadriel had seen, in baby Ereinion in his cradle. Ereinion when he was determined did indeed recall his great uncle Finrod Felagund. Celeborn took a deep breath, composed his expression, and followed his nephew. Keeping up with the Pityaran would be an interesting afternoon's work.

 

Aran Ereinion's bedchamber, later that same afternoon

 

The council with Lord Alcarmir had been long, and unpleasant, but in the end successful. Ereinion's patience to outwait the Lord of Nargothrond had been in part inspired by knowing what he would be facing from his beloved foster-father once the meeting was over. Now that it was, Ereinion preceded Cirdan nervously into his bedchamber, knowing that what awaited him would be unpleasant. He had made an attempt to put off this punishment until bed-time, since he still had several of hours of work to do with Aunt Galadriel, after dinner. But Cirdan had not approved of that suggestion.

"Ai, yonya." Cirdan said softly, catching the nervous young King into a hug. "Why do you insist on pushing me to see if I am really serious?"

"I wasn't...pushing, Atarinya." Ereinion protested gently, "Not this time. I just wanted to go see the carnival. Its been years since the last one, and I really liked it. Going there with you and Lady Samindel and Nallos was one of my best memories, from the Falas."

Cirdan sighed, and gently stroked his foster-son's soft, dark hair. "Ereinion, I am sorry. Your aunt has been carrying on many of the duties that will soon fall to your other advisors, the fleet has had a number of troubles with the storm season starting early, and I just could not spare the time to go with you. Nor did I think it a good idea for you to go without me."

"Could I maybe next time go with Captain Marsaron? Or Earyando?" Ereinion asked hopefully.

Asking the Valar for patience, Cirdan tried to remind himself that he, too, had once been young. Had once seen putting off a pleasure for five years or a decade as an incredible sacrifice. "I will consider it, Ereinion." Cirdan said softly, but in a tone indicating that this part of the discussion was finished. "I am in no way willing to compromise your safety, and this afternoon came perilously close, in my opinion."

Ereinion swallowed nervously, and nodded that he understood. "I am sorry, Atarinya." Ereinion said softly.

Shaking his head at his foster-son, Cirdan asked, "Sorry you were caught, or sorry you disobeyed?"

"Sorry for both, but...mostly sorry I disobeyed." Ereinion replied sincerely. "I didn't realize, the lengths Drystan and Nallos had gone to, to secure my safety. Nor that even those precautions might not have been enough...I, Atar, I didn't want to run away. I just wanted an afternoon off, to do what I wanted to do. To go somewhere I wanted to go. I still think it is unfair that I might not, but I understand better now, why you said no. And I'll listen, next time. I promise."

Cirdan nodded slowly, sensing a lot of sorrow and resignation in his young nephew and foster-son's answer. "Something more is bothering you, yonya. More than answering to me, more than realizing you will have to agree to my forbidding you pleasures, in the future, for your safety's sake. What is it?"

Ereinion made a face. Mostly, he was not an open book. But to Cirdan, he was. "There were twelve elves, out there today." Ereinion pointed out quietly. "Drystan and Nallos, and ten other friends. All watching out for me. If I'm to have a...a few hours of fun, it takes that much of the care and aid of others. More, it risks their safety, for any one of them, even Drystan who doesn't believe in Kings," Ereinion shared a sad smile with his foster-father, "would gladly risk their life for mine. Atto, I hate that."

"Ai, Ereinion-nin." Cirdan pulled the young elf into his arms, seating them both on Ereinion's bed. "I know, I know, ammelda yonya. But Aran you must be, for I could not cooperate with Lord Alcarmir. And even though you are Aran, you must be a young elf, and have time to yourself, and time to enjoy yourself. Your friends and retainers care for you, and understand that. You must be Aran, but you do not have to be alone. Let those who love you and care for you, help you. Guard you while you go on rides along the seashore. Keep you safe if you would like to wander the docks on fine evenings."

Ereinion sighed, and nodded. Relieved that he'd told his Atar of his troubles, and more relieved that Cirdan had understood.

"But that does not give you leave to go somewhere I have told you is forbidden." Here Cirdan's voice became stern again, and Ereinion remembered that this was the elf who had so impressed his uncles and father, that they had sent their youngest heir to him, for safe-keeping.

Ereinion straightened. He did not want to be punished, but he knew that he had earned it, by disobeying one of Cirdan's rules. The elder elf could be a tolerant foster-father about most transgressions, but not Ereinion's risking his own safety, especially not after having been warned against it. "I understand, Atar. I will accept whatever punishment you feel appropriate."

Cirdan sighed again, considering his young foster-son in his lap. He had originally intended to strap Ereinion soundly, for being outside the city without his guard, for defying Cirdan's will, and for lying to his aunt. But now, given Ereinion's recognition of the wrong-doing, and his concomitant melancholy...that seemed excessive. So Cirdan offered, "Ereinion, I am truly not happy with your behavior today. But I have been pleased and proud with how well you have handled all of these responsibilities which have come to you too young, these past few years. Keeping that in mind, and considering this day an aberration, I am not going to strap you."

Ereinion sighed in relief, before asking, "But?"

"I am going to spank you, and paddle you, yonya." Cirdan answered, not without sympathy for his foster-son, adding, "But only with the leather paddle, not the wooden one."

Ereinion, who had indeed at times been quite the mischevious elfling, stared at his Atar in mingled relief and surprise. "But Atar, I was...I disobeyed you, it was much worse than..."

"I know what you did, Ereinion yonya." Cirdan said firmly, "But I am the Atar, and you the elfling, and perhaps it would be best you not disagree. I assure you, I will make the lesson firm enough."

Ereinion nodded, not sure whether to be relieved or embarrassed. In all honesty, he was a bit of both. In Ereinion's opinion, the leather paddle hurt more than a hairbrush, but much less than the wooden paddle or the strap. And his Atar's hand was firm and practiced, all by itself. Ereinion resignedly removed his embroidered robe, his leggings, and his small clothes, and returned to Cirdan.

Cirdan pulled his beloved foster child over his lap, waiting to make sure Ereinion was comfortable, and had grabbed a pillow to hold onto. Then Cirdan began spanking the young elf briskly, his firm swats quickly changing the shade of Ereinon's bottom cheeks from palest white to a bright, rosy pink.

Ereinion fought to remain still and quiet. It had been a while since he had been in this position, though perhaps not from Cirdan's perspective. Still, Ereinion knew he had earned this punishment, and did not want to react like the veriest elfling.

"Do not worry about honest reactions, yonya. I know that this pains you, and I do not think less of you for reacting." Cirdan said gently, though his hand was still quite firm as he moved to swatting Ereinion's sit spots.

"Ah!" Ereinon gasped, flailing his feet a bit as the swats rained down upon the more tender undercurve of his bottom. "No...ow!...not worried!" Ereinion assured his foster-father.He knew that Cirdan didn't mind if his fosterling reacted to a spanking, though Cirdan had once stopped swatting when a much younger Ereinion had tried to take advantage of that, reacting histrionically in hopes of ending the punishment more quickly. Upon ascertaining that his elfling was not, in fact, that upset, Cirdan had made what had started out as a relatively mild spanking for inappropriate lateness into a memorable punishment. But he'd never minded if Ereinion yelped, if it wasn't purposely exaggerated. So Ereinion gasped and yelped now, because it hurt.

"Shh, yonya." Cirdan soothed him, stroking Ereinion's back gently, and giving the youth a few moments to catch his breath, while he picked up the leather paddle. Cirdan had not had a fosterling in many centuries prior to Ereinion, and Ereinion's mischeiviously creative although generally not malicious antics had at first driven Cirdan to distraction. Had, in fact, been the impetus behind Cirdan's asking a leather-worker friend of his to make the leather paddle, as Ereinion had been naughty enough to inspire his foster-father to find something more severe than the hairbrush, when Ereinion had still been a fairly young teen. The stiff leather paddle, although not much wider or longer than Cirdan's own hand, had proved a fairly effective deterrent. When Ereinion's breathing had calmed, Cirdan laid the leather paddle gently against the fullest part of his bottom, and cautioned, "Half done, yonya. 'Twill all be over soon, be brave for me a bit longer."

Ereinion took a deep breath, and then yelped loudly as the paddle fell the first time. Cirdan applied the paddle expertly, and Ereinoin writhed and wriggled over his foster-atar's lap, not trying to escape, just reacting. Soon enough he was sobbing, and his bottom was bright red, from the top of his cheeks down through his sit spots and undercurve.

Applying one last swat to each of his foster-sons' sit spots, Cirdan put the paddle aside, and gently rubbed Ereinion's back. "There, yonya. I forgive you for your disobedience, and you can wait until later tonight to write your letters." Pulling Ereinion's under tunic down gently over his son's bright red bottom, Cirdan carefully lifted Ereinion into his lap, taking care to put his elfling's no-doubt throbbing bottom in between his own thighs, so that no pressure was put on it.

Ereinion tried to still his sobs, but the day had been long, and the punishment quite thorough, if not as harsh as he might have expected, considering the seriousness of his misbehavior.

"Shh, shh, ammeldo yonya." Cirdan soothed him, lifting them both so that Cirdan was leaning against Ereinion's headboard, and Ereinion was lying down against his chest.

"You...don't have to stay, Atto." Ereinion gasped in between hiccuping sobs. "I already made you lose hours today...worrying over me."

"Of course I shall stay, silly yonya." Cirdan soothed his child. "I am your Atar, am I not? It is my privilege and honor to comfort you, and to guard your rest."

In his foster-father's loving arms, Ereinion fell asleep. The evening would bring more challenges, such as dealing with his aunt, who might well feel slighted by Ereinion's deception. And the next day even more, for as much as Ereinion found Galadriel at times to be alternatively overwhelming, annoying and overbearing, he had come to care for her, and to rely on her aid and counsel. Ereinion was not looking forward to ruling without her. And tomorrow was the last day that Galadriel was scheduled to be on the Isle of Balar.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elrond continues his story of a much younger Ereinion, but is interrupted by Arwen, who wants to include the tale of her grandparents' reunion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta: Thanks to: Beth, for helping me get un-stuck writing Arwen's POV; to Kaylee for help with Sindarin and Quenya; and to Emma, for a vote of confidence. All mistakes are my own.
> 
> A/N: Nargothrond fell in First Age 495, making Ereinion the young Aran of any survivors of Nargothorond. Ereinion survived the fall of Nargothorond because he was at the Isle of Balar, being fostered by his distant kinsman Lord Cirdan (after Cirdan, and Ereinion with him and all of the elves who survived the fall of Brithrombar and Eglarest in the Falas, fled to the Isle of Balar). On the OCs who appear in this story: Carmave and Nallos are mentioned briefly in a forthcoming story "Hope in the Healing, Part II," they are the great-great-uncle and great-grandfather, respectively, of Tauriel, who appears in that story. Drystan also appears in that story, and his future daughter Eilunwen appears in "A Youngest Son's Gambit," in "Tales of the Elves of Lothlorien," as Orophin's wife. Faronglas also appeared in "A Youngest Son's Gambit," as well as in "Fly, Arwen," in "Tales of the Third Age in Twlight." Ilcetiel appeared in "A Lady of Investments," and Faenglorien in "The Perils of Destiny's Dolls in Ingwe's Garden," both in "Tales from before the Sun Rose."

Minas Tirith, Spring of 3020

"After his nap, Ereinion attended dinner, which seemed to him both interminably long and too short. Interminable, as even with a thick cushion on his seat, Ereinion could still feel the sting his Atar's hand and paddle had left on his backside. Not long enough, as he did not particularly want to be alone with his formidable aunt and former regent Galadriel. Though she, too, seemed quiet, and not particularly minded to comment on Ereinion's foolishness of the day, at least not during dinner. Nor was Ereinion alone in sitting uncomfortably at the dinner table. Faronglas, too, was squirming in his seat, and Ereinion noted with interest that even his aunt did not stay for dessert, which she most often did." Elrond explained, continuing, "After dinner, Ereinion was frustrated, and complained, prompting a most important conversation, one he and Galadriel would both remember for always and ever."

"Ada, you left out a part." Arwen pointed out, stroking the sleeping Faramir's hair gently. Arwen had come in partway during the story. The Queen had observed the goings-on with a happy smile that reminded Lord Elrond of when his daughter had been an innocent elfling, anticipating storytime, before asking her Ada if she and her ladies could join storytime without disturbing her husband, her Ada's patient.

Looking at his grown son, now the King of Men, who had fallen into what Lord Elrond recognized as a deep sleep state (at least for his Estel), Elrond agreed.

So Arwen, and the three of her ladies in waiting who were most constantly in attendance upon the new Queen, joined her brothers and father, and the sleeping King and Steward. To Elrond, it felt pleasantly reminiscent of gatherings at Imladris when...when Arwen had been young. Arwen's chief lady-in-waiting, Lady Ynithe of the Black Root Vale, also her father Lord Duinhir's sole heir after the death of her twin brothers during the Ring War, sat curled on a settee, embroidering a tunic. Ynithe was the widow of Captain the Lord Gendarion of the Ringlo Vale, who had been one of Boromir's best friends. From the color of the thread she she was using on the tunic, Elrond suspected it was a gift either for Ynithe's father-by-law, Lord Tyorvond of the Ringlo Vale, or his nephew and reluctant new heir, Faramir's own gwador, Lieutenant the Lord Dervorin, Gondor's young assistant spy master. Ynithe and Gendarion had sadly not had children, so Dervorin was currently Tyorvond's only living heir. Although Dervorin had made what Elrond thought a well-researched, creative, and impassioned plea that the  
Ringlo Vale pass either to Ynithe or a subsidiary line. Lord Tyorvond, the council, and the King, however, had not agreed. Nor had Ynithe particularly wanted the honor, which would have made a difference to Lord Tyorvond and the King, if not to the council. Ynithe helped Tyorvond and Dervorin with the administration of the Ringlo Vale when they needed assistance, but dwelling there reminded her too poignantly of her lost husband.

Reclining on the other settee was the motherly and cheerful Lady Lindorie, the aunt of Lord Angbor of Lamedon. She was also Faramir's cousin by marriage, as she had wed one of Denethor's eldest nephews a few years before Finduilas wedded Denethor. Denethor's nephew had died young, leaving Lindorie a widow, and she had been a dear friend of Finduilas, before returning to Lamedon to help raise her nephew Angbor, after his mother's own death. Now Lindorie had remarried, and was several months along with her first child, at approximately age sixty. It was a pregnancy Lord Elrond and his son Elladan were watching carefully, considering the age of the mother, and that she was a dear friend of Faramir's, and had become a friend to Arwen, as well.

Elrohir had moved to the other side of Faramir, and Elladan was sitting on the end of the bed, flanked by Princess Lothiriel and Prince Amrothos of Dol Amroth, the younger children of Prince Imrahil, and Faramir's first cousins. Princess Lothiriel had come early for the wedding of Faramir and Eowyn, to help Arwen with the preparations, and to serve as one of Eowyn's attendants for the event. Prince Amrothos had come with his sister, and had been of great assistance to Faramir, in the past week of searching for the King's would-be assassin and keeping the country running. Tonight, upon having been unable to find his cousin, Amrothos had sought Faramir in the King's and Queen's apartments, and then had stayed at Elrond's invitation.

Having wormed her way carefully in between her husband and his Steward, Arwen was more content that she had been in days. Stroking the slumbering Faramir's hair contentedly, Arwen mused that she did not know what she would have done this last week, without Faramir. She had been frantic after Aragorn's injury, and every moment she had not spent at his side, or making decisions which could not be put off, she had been pacing or worrying. Faramir had been her mainstay, as her father and Elladan worked on her beloved Estel, and Elrohir plotted death to his baby brother's unknown attacker. It was Faramir who had listened to Arwen's every fearful thought, which had ranged from the logical suggestion that the fletcher who had created the arrow which pierced her husband's side be found (which Faramir had immediately implemented), to the rather ridiculous, such as the idea that every citizen of Gondor might be out to kill Aragorn and Arwen, for being part-elf, or foreign, or not-Denethor, or something.

Faramir had listened attentively and kindly, and then had coaxed Arwen into eating. It was a reversal of their normal roles, Arwen forgetting to eat, and Faramir reminding her. Arwen had been so startled by it that she had immediately agreed to have some porridge, fruit, and sweet tea. Then Faramir had convinced her to lay down, just for a moment, in the day bed in her study. His sonorous voice and oddly accented Sindarin lending charm to the Lay of Luthien, Faramir had then read to her, until Arwen had fallen asleep. The first and only sleep she'd managed, after Aragorn's injury and before he was well enough for her to  
sleep in the bed beside him.

It had reminded Arwen of Elrohir, sitting by their mother's side, and reciting her favorite poetry to her, hour after hour, in the difficult days following Andreth's death and Celebrian's rescue. Elrond and Elladan had done their best with Celebrian's physical injuries, but being her healers, they'd needed to keep some objectivity, as impossible as that was. It was Elrohir had been Celebrian's strength, in that time. Arwen herself had done her best, but was afraid she'd done little to aid her mother, who had finally sailed. Though Glorfindel and Erestor, and Arandil and Elain, and even Elladan, had all done their best to assure Elrohir and Arwen that some injuries were just too severe to heal from, short of sailing.

But now Arwen moved her mind to happier thoughts, reminding her flustered father, "You left out the part with Celeborn and Galadriel."

"I don't think that's really part of the story, iel-nin." Lord Elrond almost pleaded.

Arwen dimpled, not taking mercy on her father at all. She'd heard this story from Celebrian, who'd had it from Galadriel. Some mothers will tell their grown daughters nearly anything, and Galadriel and Celebrian had been of that persuasion. "No, no, its an important part of the story." Arwen insisted.

"What is?" Elladan asked in interest.

"Daernana and Daerada's private reunion. Why Daernana did not stay seated for dessert." Arwen responded, winking at her less easily horrified older twin brother Elladan.

Elrond, who'd also been told that story by Celebrian, though he'd laughingly but sincerely begged her not to share it with him, winced, before lying. "Ah...I don't know how well I remember that part, iel muin nin."

Arwen laughed lightly, "I shall tell it, then."

Elrohir put his fingers in his ears and hummed. Elrond wanted to do the same thing. Galadriel was rather like his own naneth, in a number of ways, and parental sex was...yuck. Elladan, unnatural ellon that he was, looked curious.

 

"No." Elrond voted. "And Elrohir agrees with me."

 

"I'd like to hear it, Arwen." Elladan voted. "And I'm sure Ynithe, Lindorie, Lothiriel, and Amrothos would, as well."

 

Ynithe, who had been listening in interest as she continued working with her embroidery hoop, smiled. "Well, yes, but if Lord Elrond is too uncomfortable, then it would of course be inappropriate." She remarked diplomatically.

 

It was exactly the right thing to say. Lord Elrond was a healer; talk of two elves engaged in some heavy foreplay did not make him too uncomfortable. Even if those elves were his in-laws, and like another mother and father to him. But there were limits. "End the story at the bedroom door, iel-nin." He instructed Arwen firmly.

 

"The second time, of course I will, Ada." Arwen promised, dimpling, as she told the story, and Elrohir left his fingers in his ears, and continued humming.

 

The guest chambers in Cirdan's and Aran Ereinion's castle, afternoon of that same day, in F.A. 497 (or 498)

 

Galadriel turned to face her husband, sighing as the cares and worries of the afternoon left her. Without them, she seemed lighter, more an elf and less some strange fey creature, part elf and part dream. At least so she seemed to her husband.

 

"I was thinking to myself earlier today that I am terribly eager to return home to Doriath, meleth-nin." Celeborn murmured, embracing his lady wife. "But now I realize that I was mostly just missing you. For wherever you are, I think that must be my home."

 

Galadriel huffed a light laugh, "And here I thought the first words from you once we were alone would be, 'Why haven't you packed, and why did you buy a house without consulting me?'"

 

Celeborn tightened his arms around her, laughing in turn. "Well, yes, those questions did occur to me, only," He pulled away enough to look around their guest chamber again, "You have packed, everything but what we'll need for today and tomorrow." Celeborn ignored the hastily unpacked bags and boxes of formal robes. It was not his wife's fault that Lord Alcarmir had picked today to demand a meeting requiring formal dress. "And buying the house...I'm not happy that you did so without asking me, meleth. But I have seen what it meant to Ereinion, already. A promise that we are not abandoning him; that we shall return. And I understand."

 

Relaxing still more before him, Galadriel offered, "And it has made it easier to pack. The light clothing, and the formal clothing in the more Noldor styles, as well as the sea-fishing equipment that we do not need in Doriath, I am just having stored in our home here."

 

"Hmm, well enough." Celeborn sat down in an arm chair, still considering his wife. She moved gracefully between bags and boxes, folding her iridescent robe and placing it within one, and starting a bath to run for him, in their bathing chamber. Then, clad in just her shift, she knelt before him, and pulled off his boots. He sighed in relief. "I was not in the mood to deal with Ereinion out of place and in danger, this afternoon." Celeborn confessed softly.

 

"I was not in the mood to find him gone, myself." Galadriel replied tartly, before softening her tone, "But thank you for retrieving him."

 

"If Faronglas is sitting uncomfortably at dinner, its because he was going to just let Ereinion find his own way home." Celeborn related, still irritated with their youngest retainer.

 

Galadriel just looked at him.

 

"Oh, fine, Faron was going to help Ereinion get home, but without informing me. Honestly, what was he thinking?" Celeborn grumbled.

 

"Meleth," Galadriel pointed out, "Ereinion is Faronglas' Aran. It is not so illogical, that Faronglas might feel a great loyalty to him."

 

Startled, Celeborn blinked. Sinyefal and Faenglorien, Faronglas' parents, were both Noldo. Well, Sinyefal was Lindaran, or Teleri, of Aran Olwe's people. But Faenglorien was Noldo, and as the Falathrim on Middle Earth did not have a King as such, and Faronglas had been fond of Galadriel's brothers, it made some sense that he would view Ereinion as his King. "I did not think of that." Celeborn murmured.

 

"I see." Galadriel replied levelly, "Well, it is something to be aware of. Our household is Noldor as much as Sindar, though we have dwelt mainly in Doriath."

 

Celeborn reached out, and pulled his wife onto his lap. "Speaking of Doriath...if you truly feel you need to stay here, Galadriel. We can stay."

 

She perched primly on Celeborn's lap, not relaxing against him. Theirs was a relationship where the power play was always ongoing...it had been, from the first. It was more or less a game between them, but a game with rules. And buying homes without notifying the other was...a violation of one of the rules. But this was more important, so Galadriel answered seriously, "Nay. We should return to Doriath. Ereinion is ready enough to rule on his own, and by the laws of Nargothrond, I am not even his heir."

 

"Does he have one?" Celeborn asked bluntly.

 

"No." Galadriel said with a sigh, "Or, rather, his heir would be our cousin Turgon, the King of Gondolin. After him, arguably Princess Aredhel's son, Maeglin. Then Princess Findis' grandson, Ecthelion of the House of the Fountain, followed by his nephew. Then Princess Lalwen's son, and grandson."*

 

Celeborn sighed, "And they are all in Gondolin, so even getting a messenger through to them is...uncertain."

 

Galadriel sighed, nodding. "Cirdan, Ereinion, and I discussed the relative merits of Ereinion officially proclaiming me his heir, as Finrod had intended to add me to the succession, following my elder brothers and their children. But Finrod never actually did so...he thought, we all thought, there would be plenty of time, for that. And Lord Alcarmir, amongst a number of others, would object to an elleth as heir. We deemed it not worth the political fall-out."

 

Pausing, Galadriel added, "But if you and I were to have a son, there is an argument that the Kingship of Nargothrond should most appropriately pass through me, to our son. Before going to any of Fingolfin's heirs."

 

Celeborn held his breath, for a moment. He'd fallen in love with Galadriel, knowing that elflings were far from her mind. Celeborn himself was very fond of elflings, and had watched with no little jealousy as his brother, his cousin, and many of his friends had all become fathers. But Celeborn had known, in choosing to love Galadriel, that it would be many coronari before they would have an elfling. If his lady ever truly wanted one. And he would not pressure her, if she did not. But Galadriel had done much better than her husband had expected, with Ereinion. It gave Celeborn hope that she might at least deal well with a teenaged elfling, or a young elf. And after all, many noble ladies had little to do with their young elflings. If Galadriel could grow to love a grown child, then that might be enough. After all, an elfling was only an elfling for fifty years...then they were a young adult, like Ereinion. Whom Galadriel had formed an unexpectedly positive relationship with. But still, it would have to be her choice. "Have you changed your mind, meleth?" He asked gently, neutrally.

 

Galadriel, troubled, shook her head, and got up to pace. Celeborn let her. This was the Galadriel whose visions were both respected and feared even by Queen Melian, not his wife troubled by the personal matter of whether she truly felt ready for an elfling.

 

"The world is changing, Celeborn." Galadriel said, and there was a hint of...other, in her voice. A hint of the gifts, the vision, the far-sight, that had caused the Vala Yavanna to pluck Artanis, still an elfling, from her tutors' classes, and make her the Vala's own student. A hint of what had caused Faenglorien, then one of the greatest seeresses trained by the Valar, to declare herself Artanis' student, rather than the other way around.

 

"Changing?" Celeborn questioned, "I know Nargothrond fell, my love. And that the Union of Maedhros failed, at the Battle of Unnumbered Tears. But Doriath and Gondolin still stand. Gondolin has stood for centuries, and my Uncle's Kingdom for millenia. They will not so easily fall to Morgoth."

 

But Galadriel still paced. "Something...is coming. Some crisis or moment where everything hangs in the balance. What it is, or what form it will take, I cannot say. But everything is changing, and I feel like...the fool who stands on sand, as the waves wash it away beneath her, remaking everything, everything..."

 

Celeborn got up, and pulled his wife into his arms. His brave warrior lady, fearless in nearly everything, shuddered in fright, like a tiny elfling. Celeborn felt his own heart quail, for Galadriel often saw truly. "Shh,  
meldenya." Celeborn whispered, "Shh. Whatever is coming, whatever it is, we shall face it together, you and I. Not alone, never alone." Celeborn did not raise the issue of elflings again. If whatever Galadriel saw frightened her so much, she would not want to beget an elfling now. Nor would he want them to. It would be too dangerous.

 

Galadriel quieted, and decided to change the subject. She had learned through brutal experience that worrying about her visions when they were still so unclear did no good, for her or anyone else. Now her husband was home, and still irritated at her. Though he was suppressing the irritation, out of kind regard for her worry at leaving her barely-more than-an-elfling nephew to fend for himself. "I owe you," Galadriel said softly, "for the house."

 

"And I will collect," Celeborn said with a gentle grin, one that Galadriel loved, for it was an expression that belied the strength of the warrior prince she had married. Celeborn was an equal for any of her brothers, though she could count on her two hands the number of times she had ever heard him raise his voice. "Perhaps you will owe me a forfeit of my choosing, my wife. What think you of that?" He asked, his voice teasing.

 

"I think that I know better than to agree to any "forfeit" of yours, without knowing what it is." Galadriel responded immediately.

 

Celeborn grinned back at her, and she made a face at him. They both remembered very well the last time Galadriel had agreed to a forfeit of his, without knowing what it was. As they had been closeted in her room, on a day several weeks following his return from Nargothrond with Finrod Felagund's blessing for their marriage, doing the things that one might expect of recently betrothed couples, Galadriel had naturally expected Celeborn meant a forfeit along those lines. Celeborn, however, had asked his newly betrothed lady to please listen graciously to his mother, that evening. And then Baraves had spent several hours  
telling Galadriel what was expected in a bride of the house of Elmo. To her everlasting credit, Galadriel had been good to her word. But when they left his parents' house, Celeborn's beautiful bride-to-be had practically been spitting fire.

 

"You know," Celeborn began, trying to suppress a smile, "If you had just listened to my mother, you would know better than to purchase large things, such as fine horses or townhomes, without consulting your Lord Husband."

 

Galadriel didn't even blink. She knew him well enough to know he was teasing, even though his diplomatic, blank-faced expression was good enough to fool most elves. But she replied more seriously, "I am willing to pay you a forfeit, because I breached the rules between us, meleth-nin. What rules there may be between other ellyn of Doriath and their wives, I care very little for. I didn't marry all the ellyn of Doriath; I married you. What would you have of me?"

 

Celeborn pulled her into a deep kiss, before offering, "Help me to undress and bathe, and we'll call it even."

 

"I don't need a bath." Galadriel pointed out, "And I want a nap, before dinner. Ereinion and I have several more matters to discuss tonight, 'ere our departure tomorrow morning." But she started assisting her tired husband to undress, and placed his stained travel clothes in a basket.

 

"I didn't say you were going to take a bath," Celeborn replied, amused, "I am. You're just going to scrub my back."

 

"Very well." Galadriel accepted with a sigh, but they both knew she was not truly so resigned. She found the sight of him as alluring as he found the sight of her.

 

Soon enough, Celeborn was relaxing in the large sunken stone bathtub, enjoying his wife's talented fingers as she first washed his back, then proceeded to rub the tension from it. "Mmm." He commented softly, "I think you should train more with the healers."

 

"I have no bedside manner." Galadriel responded absently, working on a particularly deep knot, "And I think elves who get injured should just stop complaining and concentrate on healing, and try not to be so foolish in the future."

 

Celeborn rolled his eyes, chuckling, "My compassionate love." He waited until her attention was firmly on his back, before shifting slightly.

 

"Did that hurt, meleth?" Galadriel inquired, concerned. Then she spluttered, for Celeborn had used her moment of inattention to reach a long, pale arm around her back, and pull her into the bath on top of him. Her thin linen shift was instantly soaked and transparent, and she made quite a charming picture. She was also spitting mad, but quite diverted from her earlier worries. Celeborn considered it a win.

 

"What are you thinking, you overgrown elfling?" Galadriel scolded him fiercely, whirling around, or trying to. Celeborn had his wife held fast by her waist. As much as he wanted to see her lovely eyes, sparking blue fire at him, he knew that if he let her get her feet under her, she would be away, and sulking demurely at him all through dinner. And he didn't want that. He wanted her distracted, so that he could convince her their time before dinner could more profitably be spent in pursuits other than napping, or planning revenge upon husbands who soak one against one's will.

 

Galadriel elbowed him, and nearly left a bruise. To keep ahold of her, Celeborn dragged them both under the water for a moment. Her legs scissored, and her thumbnail punctured the skin of his arm. He swore, and swallowed bathwater. And yet, this was still Galadriel playing fair. He had been a warrior for millenia; her for mere centuries. The playing with weapons she had done before leaving Aman didn't count, and they both knew it. Still, her teachers had been good, and Galadriel was determined to need no one's protection. They wrestled in the wide stone bathtub, and the outcome was sincerely in doubt. Celeborn was stronger and more experienced, but Galadriel was swift, and never did the expected. Even if one had been married to her for centuries.

 

His naked body roiled around her nearly naked limbs, barely clad in the whisper-thin shift. Who knows where it might have ended, save that a timid knock came at the door, and a "My Lady, My Lord? Is everything quite all right?"

 

Celeborn groaned, sure that this was the end of his hopes for a pleasant marital interlude. Galadriel, half clasped in his arms with her foot nearly ready to sweep under his knee, laughingly but firmly declared, "All is well. Go away. I am merely helping My Lord Husband to bathe."

 

Celeborn brightened, as Galadriel's foot moved away from his knee. "So, this is all helping me bathe?" He asked cheerfully.

 

"You are a shameless opportunist." Galadriel declared, but her voice was amused as well.

 

Celeborn's arms tightened around her. She'd evidently decided to let him win, this time, for whatever reasons of her own. Maybe she still felt guilty about the house, or maybe...Celeborn wondered, suddenly alert. Maybe she just didn't want to have to be the one to make all of the decisions, just now. He decided to test the waters. "Careful, my love." Celeborn warned softly, laughter in his voice. "You've already been a rather naughty wife, this week. I'd hate to have to spank you, and give you reason to join your Pityaran and Faronglas in sitting uncomfortably at the dinner table."

 

Galadriel huffed, squirming uselessly in his grasp. That clenched it for Celeborn; she wanted the spanking. Wanted to feel cared for, and be soundly distracted from her worries over change coming to their world. Celeborn could do that, in fact, he'd enjoy it. He looked around the bathing chamber, pondering logistics for a moment. The deep tub was set against a wide ledge, across which were shutters that were closed over glass windows, all save for the very top, which was much higher than the height of an elf, and was open, shutter and window, to let the fresh sea breeze into the room. Celeborn kissed his wife's wet hair, then said, "I think bathing with your husband sweetly was the least that I could ask, do you not, meleth-nin?"

 

"I think you are pushing your luck." Galadriel said, turning her head to bite the hand that stroked her cheek. A gentle bite, as bites went, but it was enough to make Celeborn lift his wife firmly, and set her down hard on the wide ledge between the tub and the shuttered window, facing him. Then he could not help but smile at her, even though she was glaring at him. She looked so magnificently alluring, drenched from head to toe, and clad in the clinging, wet, see-through shift. With another long, pale arm, Celeborn grabbed several towels, and placed them beside his wife. Then he plucked her up, and placed her in front of him,  
kneeling in the cooling water.

 

"Lay down over the towels, Galadriel." He commanded her, his voice still teasing, to let her know that if she was not minded to play along, they could do something else.

 

But she was minded, though she protested, "This...I look ridiculous, meleth."

 

"No." he assured her, admiring her pale bottom, clearly visible through the shift. Only her bottom and her upper thighs were out of the water; her shift floated around her mid thighs. Her upper body was pressed against the towels, and she reached for the edge of the shelf, to hold herself in place. "Stay as you are, my love." Celeborn asked of her, and proceeded to rain down soft smacks on her well-presented wet backside. He paid careful attention to Galadriel's reactions as he did so, making sure that her quick breaths and soft outcries were still those of pleasure, rather than pain. And he paused, frequently, to stroke her lovely body with his cold hands, or to pour the cooling water over her bottom as he alternatively heated it up. Finally, when her rear cheeks were a dark pink, he paused, and grabbed the bath brush.

 

She stilled, not saying no, but wary. "Don't push your thumbnail into my arm." Celeborn reminded her, "I loathe that." At that, he smacked her bottom twice with the bathbrush, gently, but given the well-warmed state of his wife's lovely hind quarters, it was enough to cause her to cry out softly, though her eyes, when he pulled her back into the quite cool water, were still clouded with pleasure. "Bed." She commanded him, clinging to him now for support, rather than to get better leverage for pulling him beneath the water so that she could wreak retribution or make her escape.

 

"Oh, bed, for your nap, hmm?" Celeborn asked, his eyes alight with amusement as well as pleasure.

 

"If you value your arms being free of my nails..." Galadriel warned him with a laugh, but fortunately, he was obeying her command already, cradling her like the helpless maiden he loved that she was not, and striding into their bedchamber.

 

Minas Tirith, 3rd Age, Year 3020

 

"See, Ada, at the bedroom door, as promised." Arwen concluded. "You can tell the rest of the story. I only know it from Daernana's perspective, and she can be a bit..." Arwen paused.

 

"Ethereal to the point of hopelessly obscure?" Suggested Elrohir.

 

"Full of herself?" Offered Elladan, "Although evidently rather sexy as well, back in the First Age. What other now-respectable elder ellith did you know in those days, Ada, and what were they like?"

 

"Oh, gwanur, ugh." Elrohir said, horrified.

 

Elrond was rather of Elrohir's perspective on this question, so he quickly continued the story, hoping to change the subject.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * That Ecthelion of the House of the Fountain, among others, might have been a descendant of Findis or Lalwen is speculated, but not canon. That Princess Lalwen had descendants in Middle Earth was indicated by Tolkien at one point, but never confirmed. So this part of the succession is not canon, its just how I've decided it is to be for purposes of the DH AU. Oh, and FYI, Findis and Lalwen were the daughters of King Finwe, and the sisters of Galadriel's father Finarfin (Arafinwe), and his brother Fingolfin (Nolofinwe) and half-brother Feanor (Feanaro).


End file.
